A Servant's View
by Cat McDougall
Summary: Vanyel's Passing from a servants POV ONESHOT COMPLETED


A Servant's View

Her arms were tired and her shoulders ached, from the long day she had spent scrubbing floors here in the Palace. She did it everyday without fail. Yet, somehow, today had been different. She could feel the difference in the air. Something was coming, something horrible. 

The Palace had been tense for some time now. King Randale was dying. The Heir and Randale's daughter had gone off and gotten married, against everyone else's better judgment. To top it all off, the Last Herald-Mage, Vanyel Ashkevron, had headed into the north with his lifebonded, Bard Stefan, because of his ForeSight dream. 

She sighed as she sat back, her section done, finally, for the day. Gathering up her brushes, mop and bucket, she prepared to head back down to the servants kitchen. There dinner would be waiting for her. After that, it was a short walk to the quarters she "shared" with two other girls. The other two were usually not in their beds, finding guardsmen or whatnot to share beds with.

Tonight she was restless. So, after eating and washing up, instead of just falling into bed as she usually did, she gathered up a few fruits and went out for a walk. Her ultimate destination was Companion's Field, where the unChosen ones would gladly take her treats. 

Through the crisp night air, she strode. Around her birds sang their good night songs, adding an odd counterpoint to the faint music drifting out from the Court and from Bardic Collegium. She picked up a tune from one of the open windows and hummed it to herself as she continued her walk. 

Overhead, stars twinkled, shining gently. A breeze picked up, ruffling the small amount of hair that she allowed to escape her neat bun. 

The Companion's must have known of her coming. Several unChosen and foals were lined up at the fence, looking expectedly toward the Palace. Handing out her treats, she enjoyed their attention, returning it with scratches to ears and cheeks. Once her treats were gone some of the younger ones moved off, losing interest quickly. Several of the older ones stayed, enjoying her scratches and caresses, before moving off on their own as well. 

Once they were all gone, her attention focused on the luminescent figure standing at the opposite side, staring intently toward the Palace. The Groveborn, shone brighter than all the others, even in the pale moon that shone tonight. She watched him for a time. In him, she saw beauty of form and motion, hope and peace. He gathered all those feelings to him and reflected them back.

She basked in that presence for a moment, before turning to head back into the Palace, and going to her rest for the night. She noticed that the night had become heavier. Could she have some sort of ForeSight, much as some of the Heralds did? The servant chuckled to herself as walked back across the grounds. _'Me, a Herald?'_ she shook her head at her own thoughts. _'True, servants have been Chosen before.'_ That thought came to her as she scooted around the deeper shadows in the Servant's Garden. 

From the shadows, giggles came. The servant just ducked her head and continued on. There was nothing for her to know or to see. Still, it wasn't until she was almost to the door that she heard the soft voices coming from ahead of her. Stepping into the shadows, unwilling to be seen, she tried to get past the people ahead of her. But the names she quickly heard gave her pause. "Jisa, I know how hard it is…"

"No! You don't!" The rough, tear-filled voice broke in. "My father is dying. My mother will die the moment he does. Uncle Van is off doing Gods know what! Stefan is with him. I don't know how much longer I can keep up my happy face, even for the Court." 

The following sobs were slightly muffled. The servant quickly stepped back, allowing the Heir and his wife the privacy they felt they needed. Her footsteps were barely audible as she crept away. She made it back into the Servant's Kitchen without running into anyone else. The sounds that had come from the shadows, however, had, she was sure, made her blush permanent. 

She slipped into her room, unnoticed, and quickly fell victim to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, she gathered her brushes, her bucket and her mop much like every other day. Yet something had changed. The air was heavier, thicker. She felt she was moving through a thick soup. She went to her duties, that feeling dragging her down.

It was later, when she had changed hallways, that things began to happen around her, explaining the tension she had been feeling. Several Heralds were walking down the hall, courteously avoiding her work, speaking to each other. "Randale allowed Vanyel to go. He's our last Herald-Mage. If he fails…."

The other cut him off before he could continue. "Vanyel fail? Has he _ever_ failed at anything? You worry too much."

They stopped, apparently having forgotten about her presence. "No, I don't think you understand. Vanyel is the final Herald-Mage. I don't mean he's the only trained one we have. I mean he's al that is left. There hasn't been any Trainee with even Mage _potential_ in several years. So he may be the _last. _What are we to do without our Herald-Mages?"

The woman put her arm around her companion and sighed, pulling him along with her. "Vanyel says that us regular Heralds are enough. I trust him to be right."

"And if he isn't? What if Valdemar falls because we _aren't_ enough?" He sounded almost terrified. .The servant could see his hands shaking slightly in his fear. 

She couldn't hear the other Heralds response. Still what she heard shook her. It bothered her to hear Heralds speaking that way. How could they believe that? Heralds were enough! She had seen and heard too much in her time as a servant to not believe that "regular" Heralds weren't enough. 

The kitchen that night was alive with speculation on what the Herald-Mage was doing. It was now common knowledge that he had argued with the King about going. The King wanting him to stay; he wanting to go. Most felt though was the absence of Bard Stefan. He had not only soothed the King's now obvious pain, but also the entire Court. He, however, had insisted on going with his lifebonded, something some understood, but most disagreed with. 

The servant went for a nightly walk again. Over the last weeks, since she had heard the Heralds in the hall, the walks had become soothing to her nerves. The tensions she had first sensed, had continued to build. The entire Court was on edge with it, all wondering what new threat had drawn the Herald-Mage away. Even the Companions had become more high strung than she had ever seen them.

It showed in how they watched each other and the things around them, much more warily, than before. She arrived, as had become her habit, with treats in her pockets for them. Few came to take her offerings though. Most looked toward the Groveborn, as if waiting for something to come from him. 

She handed out the treats to those who wanted them and then began to walk away. It was the movement of a large blotch of white that drew her attention back to the Field. Every Companion was moving deeper into the Field, apparently intent on a single destination. The servant had a bad feeling she knew what the destination was. 

Several Trainees came pouring out of the Herald's wing. Tears streaked their face. Among them were the Heir and his wife. "There is no question," Jisa was saying to the others as they trudged toward the Field. "Our last Herald-Mage, Vanyel Ashkevron, has died." 

The servant felt her own eyes filling with tears. She knew they were soon rolling down her face. _'Now we will find out if "regular" Heralds are enough,'_ she thought, making her way back to the kitchen. Though she wasn't one for gossip, this was not something she would keep to herself.


End file.
